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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093107">Bad Company</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScytheTheHero/pseuds/ScytheTheHero'>ScytheTheHero</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Child Abuse, Dark Losers Club (IT), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Murder Fantasies, Song: Bad Company (Bad Company), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, murderous children</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:21:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScytheTheHero/pseuds/ScytheTheHero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There have always been monsters in the world. The Losers Club were made into monster hunters, pushed by an uncaring town and the death of an innocent. How did they come together? How did they fall apart?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Beverly I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If I didn't write this I was never going to be allowed to write again. We'll see how far it goes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the summer of her 12th year, Beverly really experienced life. She found friends. She found love. She murdered a man (</span>
  <em>
    <span>or several</span>
  </em>
  <span>). But, as always, autumn came and so she went. The aunt she wanted to love took her away from the only people she did. She would find out years later that that aunt also hid the letters from her loves, but by then it felt too late to contact them. Too late to say that she would never forget them. Too late to say she would have rather married any of them than the husband she has now. And she has her chance. The Derry High 25 year reunion was coming up and she was going to go and see those she missed and maybe visit the graves of those she didn’t, but she had an obstacle in her way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tom Rogan. Her husband. The worst idea she had ever had in her entire life, besides moving in with her aunt. In the beginning it had been nice. He was one of the only men to stand up to her in her life, but that eventually changed to her standing down. She was tired of sneaking cigarettes (</span>
  <em>
    <span>when she could be sharing</span>
  </em>
  <span>), she was tired of getting hit (</span>
  <em>
    <span>when there were hands that had only ever held her</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and she was tired of lying there as Tom had sex with her (</span>
  <em>
    <span>when she knew that there could be more</span>
  </em>
  <span>).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In Tom’s hands were a box with some of her aunt’s jewelry. It wasn’t much, or even very in her style, but it was the only thing she had left of the one adult who tried to care about her. “If you go to this reunion, you’ll never see these again.” He shook it like this were all some joke, but she knew he meant it. “If you try to sneak out of this house, I’ll whoop your ass.” Beverly frowned, but she nodded at him. He tossed her the box, laughing as she struggled to catch it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at the invitation, still on the kitchen table. Looked at the contact number listed. Later, when Tom was drunk and snoring, she snuck out to the backyard and lit a cigarette as she dialed it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sleepy voice answered, strange but familiar, even its sleepiness. “Bill?” An exclamation at the other end, another sleepy voice rising in protest. “I have a problem that only Losers can fix.” There was a laugh on the other end, an ugly thing to anyone who might hear it outside of the group who always caused it. “Send me the address. See you tomorrow Bev.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She hung up and her heart was warm. Winter was ending and here summer came.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mike I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mike rubbed his eyes, sitting up in bed as Bill hopped up, already dialing someone else’s number. He supposes he couldn’t blame him for waking him in the middle of the night. Not for Beverly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly, each and every one of them’s first love (</span>
  <em>
    <span>except, perhaps, for Bill</span>
  </em>
  <span>). The one Loser who didn’t really have to be, but chose to be. Ben put it best at one point, “my heart burns there too.” Bev was a bonfire, one deep in the woods that warmed you just right on a cool summer night. One that makes you want to dance and sing and kiss the person next to you. He doesn’t think that the Losers would have banded together that summer without her. It took her leaving for most of them to fall apart after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben left first after Bev, no fight in him to argue with his mom about moving away from them. No letters back from her had broken his heart, but when their letters started coming back unopened, that had broken Ben completely. He called every year, on Christmas, but that was it. Eddie went next. None of them, besides Beverly, could really understand how tight his mother’s grip had been, but she pulled his leash and he followed, all the way to New York, where he was now. He sometimes called them all late at night, when he should have been in bed, but instead whispered words of love (</span>
  <em>
    <span>though, whenever Richie had been on the line, they evolved into insults of love</span>
  </em>
  <span>). Eventually though, just like Ben, he began limiting his calls to once a week, then once a month, then once a year. It made Richie cold, which in turn, made Stan colder. They left town without a goodbye after graduation and sent him and Bill a postcard from California. They always made the Christmas call, but Richie hardly talked anymore, just listened. Mike had expected Bill to leave at some point too, but when he had eventually gathered the courage to ask, Bill had just smiled. “There are always more monsters.” And that had been that. The Losers Club was made for fighting monsters after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first monster had been old. A staple in Derry just like his father and his father before him. They all had the same appetites of the flesh. Small children, boys and girls, easy to manipulate into believing you’re a god. Easy to get them to lie for you. Easy to pick them up and devour them. George Denbrough was one such little boy. A trusting boy. A boy who was found dead, ripped to pieces in the Barrens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The police can say they cared and tried to look for the killer, but adults in Derry don’t listen to kids. Don’t listen when Neibolt House and its owner is accused as a suspect. Old Robert Gray was a simple old man, not a monster. Perhaps adults couldn’t see past the surface, but the Losers could. Could see behind that gleaming smile (</span>
  <em>
    <span>my, what big teeth</span>
  </em>
  <span>). Bill would never have acted by himself. He wouldn’t have acted with just Stan or Richie. It took all of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly was the in. The lost lamb. The innocent face who doesn’t look like she’s drugging your tea. It took all of them to get him out of the house and into the car Bill borrowed from deeply sleeping parents. Mike brought the tools: shovels, rope, garbage bags. Stan, the boy scout, was in charge of the knots they used to tie Robert’s arms to stakes, a mockery of the Vitruvian Man. Eddie picked out the knives (</span>
  <em>
    <span>his mother kept them locked away from him, but Richie taught him how to pick locks</span>
  </em>
  <span>). When Robert woke up, he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t even angry. He laughed. It deflated most of them. He threatened them. Threatened to tell their parents. Threatened to kill them next. He offered a deal. Their lives for Bill’s. He wanted to complete the set. Richie laughed and made the first cut. And so their summer bloodbath began.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert Gray is buried about 20 feet from their old clubhouse. It was a tradition that as the Losers walked past his grave, they would spit on it. Robert was the first. He wasn’t the last.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrick Hockstetter: asked Richie, “want to suck on this, flamer?” and then tried to set him on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry Bowers: tried to carve his name into Ben. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Keene: gave fake medicine to Eddie, knowing that it was fake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belch Huggins. Victor Cross. Butch Bowers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their sins grew thinner, almost, but their consequence was the same: execution. A flaming car, a slit throat, an overdose. The methods might be different, but it ended the same. Bodies in The Barrens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, then, Alvin Marsh. Beverly kept a lot of things inside. It was only near the end of summer that she told the other Losers the truth. Robert Gray lived throughout most of the night and into the morning before he died. Alvin took three days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of them ever regretted what they did to Alvin, but they regretted that Beverly had to leave. That their group had to be broken. And deep inside, they regretted that their summer of blood ended with a whimper, and not with a bang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bill was still on the phone after ten minutes, so Mike got out of bed to make coffee. The farm hands would have to work extra hard tomorrow, it seems like the owners are taking a trip. Behind his mug, Mike smiled.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Stan I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the nature of his business, Stan often got late night calls. He was an accountant, yes, but one that worked the more </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span> side of people’s money. He was talented at making money disappear or reappear as needed, which was what he thought the call would be about. He was surprised to hear Bill’s voice. “Stan, you and Richie need to meet me in Chicago by morning. Beverly is in trouble.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dropped the phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly was the one thing the Losers didn’t talk about. Not ever. Not in seldom text messages or the December 25th phone call. Her name sent his heart into rapid staccato beats and his breath came out in short pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beverly Marsh was the woman he loved and hated the most, in equal measure. He had fallen in love with her vibrancy. She was one of the only people who could ever drag a laugh out of him when he didn’t feel like laughing. Stan looked sideways at Richie, flat on his back and snoring loudly, oblivious to the phone call he was having. He thought of the moment he fell in love with Beverly Marsh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was after Robert, but before Patrick. They were at the Quarry by themselves, waiting on the others. Their legs dangled off the cliff and the summer breeze cooled down sweaty skin. Beverly’s hair had grown a little bit, hitting her shoulders just barely, and every time the wind would lift it against her face, she would curse. It was one of the most annoying things Stan had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It seemed that 5 seconds would go by, he thought it had finally stopped, and then another whispered curse. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Beep beep Beverly,” he muttered, half under his breath, but she heard him. She threw her head backwards in a laugh and then stared at him, wry smirk on her lips. “Why Staniel, are you saying I’m the new Richie?” He raised an eyebrow at her, “If the shoe fits, love.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The smirk turned into a smile, shining and bright and directed at him and only him. It was like if the sun itself had turned to him and brightened just his day. Her fingers looked gentle, but felt the opposite on his sunburned shoulder. Her calluses matched theirs now; had begun as broken blisters formed from shoveling, but stayed as they improved on the Clubhouse, had fought each other and other such monsters with sticks, and had thrown more rocks at people who deserved it. Her nose brushed his cheek as she leaned close to him, her lips grazed his ear as she whispered, “Richie would never have the guts.” And as he turned his head to look at her, desperate for her to finish, she pushed him off the cliff. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And he was flying. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was different than if he had chosen to jump himself. When they would jump together, the adrenaline was still there, but less. When Beverly pushed him off the cliff, it triggered his fight or flight response and he had chosen flight. He landed in the water hard and it stung, but as a crash in the water landed next to him, the sting lessened. Beverly came up for air and she was laughing and her eyes were sparkling and he understood suddenly, what it was about her that made men want to create for her, want to personify her with words, want to capture her with a sketch; she was a muse (the muse). He kissed her in the water, not a thought in his brain except what it would be like to kiss her fire. She tangled her fingers in his hair and burned them both to ashes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stan?” And he came back to himself, very suddenly. “Bill, are you sure this is a good idea?” Is it a good idea to become enraptured again? Only to fall, again? “It’s Beverly. We have to.” Stan had never said no to Bill. So he didn’t. “I’ll be there. I don’t know about Richie.” And he didn’t. He might have loved some part of Beverly in his hatred of how she handled all their hearts, but Richie never seemed to. He had given her everything, or so he had shouted at Stan one night when her name had been mentioned, but she still threw him away. He would be a hard sell. “Wake him up.” But again, Stan had never said no to Bill. So he didn’t.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Richie I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richie woke up in a lunge, his fists up and ready before he recognized Stan in the darkness of their bedroom. “Rich, take the phone. It’s Bill. I have to start getting ready.”  He was still half asleep, brain not really functioning as he held the phone up to his ear, following Stan’s exit from their bedroom with his eyes. “Big Bill?” And he’s struck by the sudden realizations that, 1.) this is not the yearly Christmas phone call, it’s the middle of June, and 2.) it’s the middle of the night. “Who died?” His words are harsh, but his heart is beating against his chest, dying to be let out. “No one. Yet.” Richie barked out a laugh at the surprise, his heart rate heading back to normal. “Holy shit Bill, way to give a guy a heart attack. Don’t we usually wait to go monster hunting on New Year’s? And you don’t usually invite Stan, are we robbing too?” The Losers as a whole only had an annual Christmas call, but Bill and Richie often had a secondary Christmas conversation. It was usually only them, sometimes Mike or Ben came, if they needed some extra muscle for their favorite hobby: monster hunting. Bill was the scout, he figured out who the monsters were pretending to be and the best ways to get them alone. Richie was the hunter, a man who excelled at killing quickly and quietly. They would tag team the hole-digging. He was a little excited now, something new, something happening, blood to be spilled and fun to be had. “Something came up. You and Stan need to meet us in Chicago by morning.” He glanced at the bedside clock, “It’s already morning there William, or close to it anyway. What’s in Chicago?” There was a pause on the other side of the line that made Richie go cold in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. “What’s in Chicago, Bill?” Bill answered and Richie swore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some nights he dreams about killing Beverly Marsh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He dreams that she lies on his and Stan’s bed, red hair spilling over the pillows as she lounges. He dreams of the way her pale skin would look on top of their navy sheets. He dreams of her as she would be now, as the older and wiser version of the girl who left. It’s always the same. She’s wearing the white underwear and the white bra, the only underclothes she had, and she gazes at him with heat. Her gaze is enough to make him almost forget that she’s covered in blood.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s caked in it, from head to toe, except for her teeth. He’ll walk over to her. He’ll stroke her cheek, run a finger across her lips, then his hands will travel to her throat, smearing blood everywhere, having it stick to his fingers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then, he will squeeze and squeeze, but Beverly will continue smiling at him. Her eyes will burst in her skull, the remains will drip down her cheeks. Still, she will smile. Her hands will climb up his body, staining his clothes and skin with crimson. Still, she will smile. Her neck will crack horrendously, causing her head to tilt at an unnatural angle as the bone pokes grotesquely out of her neck. And still, she will smile at him. She will sit up in bed and she will brush her bloodied lips across his and whisper a secret and then he will wake up. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And he’ll cry, because it feels like she’ll never die, never leave his head (</span>
  </em>
  <span>heart</span>
  <em>
    <span>). She stays with him through the cigarette he’ll smoke after he gets out of bed. She’ll stay with him through writing stand-up he hopes will one day pay the bills. She’ll stay with him as he cleans up what The Family wants him to clean up. She’ll stay with him as he fucks Stan into their mattress. He wakes up and he feels her lips like a ghost.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather not.” There is a pause, then a snort. “Come on Trashmouth. Once a Loser..” Richie gets out of bed and puts on his glasses, “Always a Loser.” He wonders if revenge is worth losing the rest of the Losers. He decides to contemplate it on the plane.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Interlude: The Many Loves of Beverly Marsh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a chapter where Beverly discusses how she fell in love with each Loser. This chapter also sort of shows how Beverly is progressing into a sexual being. Gross, I know, but it's a part of growing up and something I thought would be important to touch on as she thinks of her feelings for each Loser. I tried not to make anything too obvious, but obviously, if you have questions please ask.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She fell in love with them at different times, her boys.</p><p> </p><p><em> Bill first, obviously. Her charming partner for the school play. His intense gaze that never felt important until it met yours eyes and then it filled you up with purpose. The hand that was offered after a chance encounter at a pharmacy. A brave soul who kissed her after they buried their first monster. She wondered if his kisses would feel different in other places. As far as first loves go, Bill wasn’t a bad choice. He was never just hers though ( </em> of course, that was true for all of them really, but at the time <em> ). </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She thinks Stan was next. He had kissed her in the Quarry one day, a courageous move that didn’t fit with what she knew of Stan, but that was okay. It was sort of nice that he was only brave when he had to be. Stan was there when anyone needed a moment. He was a gulp of air before diving back down. He was a bottle of water when you had blood in your teeth. She wonders if his hair still curls. She wonders if his happy trail looks the same. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Loving Mike was a surprise. It hit her like a freight train. Most of her boys were so worried about her getting hurt, that they really stifled her. The boys all recognized her strength, but Mike and Richie were the only two who weren’t concerned about her getting hurt. When they were dealing with Hockstetter, the boys tried to keep her out of it. Patrick, as always, was vile with his threats and insults. Stan had already had to leave the clubhouse to calm down. Eddie was crying from rage, his chest heaving with the effort it took to get his breaths in. Ben was double checking the knots keeping Patrick tied to a spare chair they had, while Richie was looking for more duct tape. Beverly just kept on doing what she was supposed to do, cutting away pieces of Hockstetter. Chaos, but still the Losers were in control. But. Patrick was in pain, yes, but not too much. He threw his head forward and caught her in the mouth, busting her lip and spraying blood into the air immediately. The boys surged. Mike, Eddie, Ben, and Stan surrounded her, offering napkins and comfort and antiseptic. Bill and Richie made Patrick scream a little as she was taken care of. When the clump of boys backed away from her, Bill stalked forward with anger in his eyes and told her to wait outside. This had not been phrased as a suggestion or question. Stan and Eddie had immediately nodded. Ben looked like he might say something, but looked at her face and nodded as well. She looked to Richie for support, but he shrugged and went back to dirtying his hands with Patrick’s rotten blood. Mike slung an arm around her shoulders and met Bill head on. “ </em> She looks good in red. Let her have a little more. <em> ” And there was comfort already, from being taken care of, but here was comfort in someone having her back. Mike was the only Loser who ever said no to Bill. He loved Bill, just as they all did, but he didn’t have the blind worship that the rest of them carried. She got to stay and Mike left that night with red staining his mouth and the taste of blood on his tongue. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Eddie was the only one of the Losers who she could talk home with. She still spoke on it in half-truths and jokes, but Eddie was the only one who could match her beat for beat. On days they were both fighting with Richie, they would lay in the hammock together and laugh at his pouting. He introduced her to the comic books they all read, catching her up on the backstories that she “ </em> absolutely needed to know. <em> ” She would lay in the hammock for hours, listening to Eddie and watching his hands fly through the air. Sometimes they would nap together, not ever on purpose. She would wake up and Eddie’s head would be nestled under her chin, his arms wrapped around her and holding her tight. She would bury her nose in his air and just breathe in the calm and cleansing scents of his speciality shampoo. Once, after a nap, she dreamed that she and Eddie were taking a bath together. He was washing her hair with his shampoo and his bare chest was against her back and she woke up and realized she wanted that to happen one day. She kissed him the next time they were in the hammock. His face grew redder than her hair and he didn’t talk much, but he kept a gentle hold on her. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Ben should have been the easiest one to fall in love with. Poetry and a heart of gold. She loved him first, that was easy. He was too sweet not to. A boy who literally roared in anger when someone insulted her. Falling in love with him took time though. It was hard to talk to someone when they had placed you so high above them. She knew Ben liked her, that was easy to see, even though she pretended she didn’t. She pretended not to see his heart break each time she would kiss a new boy, or touch a boy in a way she hadn’t before. She loved Ben, she did. She didn’t want to keep breaking his heart, but deep down, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t sure Ben wanted </em> her <em> or if he wanted the </em> idea of her <em> . It was Victor Cross that did it. She had drugged him, as was her usual role, and now she was sliding a razor blade up his arm and she happened to catch Ben’s eye. His utter adoration for her as she was slowly covered in blood made goosebumps break out across her arms, legs, and chest. He was halfway through walking her home when she pulled him into one of the many secret spots of Derry. Ben’s hands were rough on her skin, but she found she didn’t mind that much. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That left one. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Richard “Trashmouth” Tozier. Beverly loved him immediately. He made her stomach hurt from laughing and her face hurt from smiling. They shared cigarettes and coins for the Laundro-Mat. He was her absolute best friend. She never even knew she had been falling in love with Richie, she just woke up one day and realized she was. Richie was hard to read though. It was easier for her than most, but even she had trouble seeing past the Trashmouth into the heart underneath. But she knew that they both valued bravery, even though sometimes it felt like they were lacking. It was after Alvin. It was the night before they were going to call the police and ask them to “ </em> please look for my dad. He was supposed to come home from work. <em> ” Everyone else had left, but she and Richie were still smoking and laughing and their legs were touching on the couch as they watched tv. And she decided to be brave. She had been so brave this summer already. She had hunted monsters. She had hurt and been hurt. She had told the Losers about Alvin. What is one more brave decision after all that? Of course, others would call her decision alarmingly short-sighted. Some would call in problematic and unhealthy. But she didn’t care what others would call it, she only wanted to know what Richie was about to think. She told him she was going to the bathroom. And she did. But what she did in there was undress and freshen up. When she walked back into the living room, it was only in her underwear. She stood proud, with her hands on her hips, but she wished suddenly that she had someone who could have bought her something nicer ( </em> not that it ended up mattering, in the end <em> ). And for a moment, as Richie’s mouth dropped open in shock and his cheeks turned red, she didn’t care at all. She and Richie were much too young, much too soaked in blood, much too harsh around the edges, but she didn’t care. She chose love over hate, and courage over fear. And together, they spent a while washing away her past. When she kissed him, she whispered “I love you” against his lips. He said it back and she had never felt more on top of the world. </em></p><p> </p><p>But then.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Bill I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my new favorite Bill I've ever written. He is NOT okay :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are some things you go through with people and it doesn’t matter how long it’s been, it doesn’t matter that they are only tangentially involved in your life; they ask you to come, and you come. </p><p> </p><p>Bill once dreamed that The Losers Club would be one big happy family. Happy lovers in Mike’s large farm in Derry, maybe a few animals, maybe some kids. He always knew he wanted his friends around forever, but it wasn’t until That Summer that he realized he maybe didn’t like his friends, just as friends. He spent much too long staring at Eddie’s legs and Stan’s mouth and Mike’s shoulders to think he was truly just into Beverly (<em>into just girls</em>). </p><p> </p><p>Nothing started until after she left (<em>was taken away from them</em>). It was in the Clubhouse. It was him, Mike, and Stan. Richie and Eddie were off on one of their Richie-and-Eddie days, Ben was home sick <em>(heartbroken)</em>, and Beverly was gone. That left the three of them together, but really, none of them had ever felt more alone. They were saturated in silence, the only noises to cut through it were their breath, the fall of Bill’s pencil on a page, and the whispers of pages turning in a book. They each sat alone, trying to immerse themselves into a hobby, into something fun that would take their minds off, well everything, but it wasn’t working. Mike began it first. Something in his book painted a picture and the tears began to fall. After that, it was all of them. Bill cried for Beverly, dragged off to who knows simply because she wished for a life that didn’t have Alvin Marsh in it. He cried for the rest of the Losers too. Beverly meant something different to each of them. He knew that she was Eddie’s biggest cheerleader, the rest of them tried, but she was able to reach him in a way the others couldn’t. She was Stan and Richie’s warmth, she brought them out of their moods and into the sun. She was Ben’s angel, without even meaning to be. She was Mike’s hope, she had given it to him as Bowers beat him like a dog and she had kept giving it to him, until she left. And Bill was selfish, because he cried for himself too. He knows it’s not a good thought, but Beverly was theirs. As much as people could own people, the Losers owned each other, and one of their own was now taken away. It was too much for them to handle, but Bill knew how Beverly would handle it. So, he got his crying under control, wiped his eyes, and walked over to Stan. And Stan looked up at him, with his perfect pout, and Bill kissed him. And Mike stopped crying to look, confused, but not altogether unhappy. Then, Bill stopped kissing Stan and went over to Mike, repeating his process. Later, they would tell Ben, Richie, and Eddie how things would now work. Once a Loser, always a Loser, and Losers stick together. It granted them a few happy months with Ben and Eddie, then several mostly happy years with just the four of them, until the end.</p><p> </p><p>Bill had planned to call Beverly after graduation. His mother was apparently a casual acquaintance of her aunt and the number was available. The only problem is that he didn’t want to do it alone; he wanted all of the other Losers together when he invited Beverly back into their lives. Ben was down, of course. Give him a date and he would drive to Derry, Maine. Bill appreciated his enthusiasm, as he was the only one who said yes at first. Eddie was a tough sell. He muttered a lot about his mother and what she would think about his decisions throughout the call, but he ended it with a request to wait and see what the other Losers said. Good, dependable Mike had merely kissed Bill when he had asked, an answer in itself. Talking to Stan and Richie had been the real challenge. Stan hemmed and hawed, but folded, like Bill had known he would, but Richie got angry. </p><p> </p><p>Bill had had the sense to ask each of the Losers alone, unwilling to put any undue pressure on each of their responses. So, there was no one around to pull Richie off him when he had started yelling and swinging fists. He knew Richie had some unresolved anger towards Beverly leaving, but he never thought it would be enough for Richie to hit him. By the time Richie’s anger had run out, Bill was pretty sure his nose was broken, and maybe some of his ribs. Bill held Richie close and kissed him, even though it hurt. He promised not to bring up calling Bev again. But, it didn’t matter. His question had freaked out Richie enough that after graduation, he took Stan and left. That was a blow, to both him and Mike. Sure, they fought, but it had never felt like this before (<em>like the people who promised to always be there and never leave left in the middle of the night without a phone call or a note or a proper goodbye</em>). It caused him and Mike to become closer than ever. And so they stayed. </p><p> </p><p>Bill helped Mike and his parents on the farm until their deaths. Mike’s inheritance was enough for them to hire some farmhands and allow Bill the time off to write. And to hunt. It had slowed down once Bev had left, but good people didn’t let monsters roam the town. He was more careful now, had more to lose, so he spent several months (<em>sometimes even years</em>) investigating his targets now. It was excellent for practicing his writing too. Sometimes the monsters would appear in his works as well; Robert Gray gets murdered every time someone finishes <em>The Attic</em>. Every year, he makes sure there’s a monster for him and Richie to kill after the holidays. It’s the only time he ever gets to see Richie smiling and laughing like Before. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t really believe in therapy (<em>if people could actually learn to change, there would be less monsters in the world</em>), and he knows he doesn’t have very good coping mechanisms for dealing with anything, but he wonders if it’s normal to feel as strongly as he does. He wonders if it’s normal to hold on to the friends he had as a child as tightly as he does. He wonders if it’s normal to love them and want to be loved by them as badly as he does. He hasn’t actually seen all of them in years. Sure, every so often, Ben would come and help out with a monster, but it feels like obligation instead of want. And Eddie never came by at all. He called more, now that his mother was dead, but when you’re anxious about planes and cars and trains and public transport as a whole, it makes it hard to visit your old friends that you used to kiss. Richie would come up for the promise of blood, but it took a ghost from the past to get Stan back to Derry. Bill was lucky Mike never left (<em>Mike often felt the same way</em>). </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, he blames Georgie. He knows it’s unfair, but sometimes that’s the only thought that spirals in his head. Would he still be a murderer obsessed with the same people he was obsessed with when he was 13, if Georgie doesn’t have his guts pulled out from a cackling monster? If he isn’t brutalized and desecrated, a process that began when he was alive and <em>none</em> of them fucking noticed? But then he thinks about it. If Georgie had been alive, neither he or his friends would have been in the Barrens the day Ben fell into them. If Georgie had been alive, none of them would be at the pharmacy to run into Beverly. If Georgie had been alive, they wouldn’t have banded together to terrorize a group of bullies picking on someone else. If Georgie were alive, he wouldn’t have the Losers. During his execution, Robert Gray had asked, “Do you think he would have wanted this?” And no, Bill doesn’t think that Georgie would have ever wanted his big brother to literally tear another person to shreds, but he also knows that if it would have brought him the Losers and made them stay, he would have killed him himself (<em>he wouldn’t have been as brutal as Robert, of course not, but suffocation by pillow for his soulmates? A small and terrible price to pay</em>).</p><p> </p><p>They lucked out and got a nonstop that left around 5 in the morning. Mike slept the whole way, curled up close to the window and fogging it with his breath. Bill drank cup after cup of coffee and tried to outline a plan for the four of them. There was a little over a week until the reunion, so as long as they were back by the Thursday before to confirm all the catering and other such details, things would be fine on that front. He tried to keep his leg from bouncing up and down, but whenever he focused on something else, his leg would anxiously resume. He was nervous, he realized, to see all of them again. Richie was usually so easy. A promise of blood and it was like he was the normal Richie again, but it was Beverly. Bill knew he didn’t do well with people leaving, but once, when they were drunk on one of their hunting trips, Richie confessed to thinking about killing Beverly. He doesn’t think Richie could actually do it, not to Bev, but there’s a small part of him that recognizes that he doesn’t know Richie as well as he thinks he does. He also worried that he may do something stupid, like try to kiss one of them or something. Sure, he and Richie had their trips and they usually got up to stuff, but that’s been it since each Loser had left. He was about to see Stan again, and his delicate cheekbones and full lips, maybe he wasn’t cut out for this.</p><p> </p><p>Really, wasn’t this crazy? He was travelling cross-country with his partner to meet up with some middle school friends he would like to fuck, so that they can murder the husband of his female middle school friend he would also like to fuck, and hopefully do this all in a short amount of time so that they can then go to their high school reunion that he threw, specifically, because he knew that he could guilt his other middle school friends into attending and then they would all see each other, and then they could all finally be together (<em>and fuck, obviously</em>).</p><p> </p><p>Bill laughed, a bit too loud and a bit too crazy for the awake patrons on the plane, but he didn’t care. He was done worrying. Everything would work out fine. It had to. He smiled to himself and leaned his head back, maybe he could get 30 minutes or something.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Interlude II: Tom Rogan in "A Beautiful Summer Morning"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tom Rogan was having a very strange day. His wife was already out of bed when he woke up. Beverly was a lot of things, but an early riser wasn’t one of them. He found her in the kitchen, humming to herself as she made the coffee, already dressed for her work day. She looked gorgeous in her little green sundress and he cursed himself for not waking up earlier so that he could enjoy his wife. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple, making himself a cup from the pot she was working on. It was pretty good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe one day you’ll get the hang of it Bevvie.” Can’t have her getting a big head or anything. Then, despite the fact that it was before 9 am on a weekday, the doorbell rang. Mormons, of course. “Hello, my name is Robert Gray, and this is Henry Bowers, and we would like to share with you this most amazing book.” Robert and Henry did not look like they should be Mormons, though he supposes, it’s not like he really knows any. He made to close the door, but a small pale hand stopped his progression. “Come on Tom, it’s hot outside. We should offer them some water.” Now, Bev knew better than talking back to him, but when he looked down, he saw her smiling at him. And not the smile he usually gets, but the real one where she shows her teeth. He’s a self-admitted bastard, but if giving these stupid Mormons some water makes his pretty wife happy, then they’ll get some water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tom led them into his house, but rightfully took his spot at the head of the table in their dining room. The Mormons sat on his left as Beverly got them all water. “Now, I’ll just be honest. The only reason you’re inside is because my wife is kind-hearted. I don’t need no Lord, but the one I got.” Now, that settled that. Robert laughed, an ugly thing hoo-boy, ”We appreciate the honesty, truly. It’s not often we get someone willing to tell us to our faces.” Henry nodded, looking grim. “Well, that’s the way my mama raised me fellas. Better to tell a man straight to his face what’s going on.” Another ugly laugh, “So happy to be in agreement.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beverly finally came into the dining room with their glasses. She served Tom first (<em>no water for him, sweet tea only</em>), as was his right as her husband and the head of the table, then their guests, and finally herself as she allowed herself to sit, to the right of her husband. “Now I’m sure Tom has told you that we are not religious people, but it seemed so wrong to leave you outside on a day like this. Now, Robert, Henry, tell my husband and I a little about yourselves.” Tom looked down at Beverly. He’s not sure what she wants, but he decides he might just give it to her. She hadn’t treated him like this, well ever, but she hasn’t been treating him like a wife should; it’s nice to see her take some initiative. He gently took a hold of her wrist and rubbed it, not noticing the eyes that tracked his movement or the flash of hatred on faces that were quickly wiped blank.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well,” and finally this Henry guy began to speak, “we’re both from Maine originally, but the Lord called us to do his bidding here in the city of Chicago.” Robert nods, “Glad to be out of that town. A lot of weird stuff seems to go on.” Beverly leans forward, his weird little wife, so obsessed with the unnatural (<em>it’s probably why she smokes</em>). “What kind of weird things were going on?” Tom just keeps sipping his drink as they begin discussing what sounds like a terrifying string of murders and tales of cannibalism. Maybe that’s why his Bevvie was the way she was; Maine must have been one fucked-up state. His eyes were growing a little heavy, but he was very relaxed. It’s a beautiful summer day, he’s sitting next to his wife who looks good enough to eat, and he’s enjoying a sweet tea made by his woman. There ain’t much more a man can ask for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he begins to doze on and off, he keeps hearing snippets of conversation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So Beverly,” asked Robert, “how would you describe your relationship with your Lord?” Him and Henry both leaned forward here. Beverly laid her chin in her hands and shrugged, “Not great, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“Would you like us to take care of that for you?” Beverly smiles, real again, and she leans forward, arms falling forward so that she can grasp their hands.</p>
<p>“Yes, please.”</p>
<p>Tom wants to protest, he feels like they’re not talking about God anymore (<em>and why is </em>his<em> wife touching other men</em>), but it feels so nice to close his eyes. He will not open them again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Eddie I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The lab assistants think he’s a cold-blooded psychopath who’s obsessed with dead people because he’s a serial killer. Eddie knows that’s not true; his mother had him tested. Besides, it’s not like he would label himself as a serial killer anyway. Serial killers usually have one way of killing their victims or a certain demographic that they always go for; he didn’t have a set type, though he did usually stick to one method of killing. He’s a small guy and gun violence is so bad in New York anyway that no one really looks into gun deaths anymore. The downside to that, and there always is a downside to convenience isn’t there, is that he has to kill a lot more people to satisfy the itch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It starts, funnily enough, in his feet. He’ll feel lost and anxious, like he has somewhere important to be. Then his hands. He’ll clench and unclench his fists and not even realize he’s doing it. And then it’s always his mouth that seals the deal and lets him know that it’s time. After he moved away from Derry and all of his friends (</span>
  <em>
    <span>more than that</span>
  </em>
  <span>), he really closed in on himself. He doesn’t talk much anymore. Except, for when he has a certain craving, and then it erupts like a volcano, just like it used to when he was a kid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The reunion is in a week. A single week. He has his plane ticket. It’s at the house, by his desk. He wonders if </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> will be there. It’s all he’s been thinking about, which is probably why he killed someone again last night. He wonders if the other Losers would care; would they think he was a monster? Is he a monster?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Scratch that, no time for wool-gathering. It’s work time for approximately 42 more minutes and he needs to get through the fucking Henderson funeral or it might literally kill him. June Henderson, the deceased, is the only member of the Henderson family he enjoys. The others are all complaining about money and wondering who’s getting her lake house. If it were up to Eddie, no one would be getting the lake house, except perhaps the Baby June, simply so she could be left alone to rot where no one could hear her obnoxious cries. The only reason he’s up on the main floor of the funeral home is because Dead June’s stupid alcoholic daughter smudged her mother’s makeup when she threw herself on top of the corpse dramatically. The blush had taken ages to get exactly right and one wino later it was smudged horrifically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>See, Eddie was good at his job, it was why he was allowed to be a surly sonuvabitch. He made dead people who actually looked like they were sleeping. Others have said it, but he's the only one telling the truth. It comes from doing his mother’s makeup when she got too ill to do it herself. He loves and hates his mother in almost equal measures. He knows she had been lying to him for years, about his father, about his various illnesses, about his dirty friends. But, she was his mother and it was his duty to take care of her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A memory of lips near his ear, “Say the word and I’ll take care of it. Say the word and hopefully you’ll get to stay with us. With me.” He wishes sometime that he did stay, but what would be the point when Richie and Stan had left Derry anyway. Had left behind the only Losers who stayed in Derry and kept watch. It hurts to think about them sometimes. He knows it's strange that he doesn’t have any friends except a ragtag group of murderers from middle school, but the Losers were alway different. If soulmates were real, he would have six. They fit together like jagged pieces of an ugly puzzle no one else wants to even attempt. When he had called to RSVP to the reunion, Bill assured him that they would </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>be there. He worries, and it keeps him up at night, recounting pills he knows he doesn’t need, that things will be different when he sees them again. For the first time, in over 20 years. They had offered to visit, but until recently with her passing, he had lived with his mother and she would not allow any of them to visit. He supposes she was right to worry; the Losers took care of each other and any of them would have gladly suffocated his mother with her own pillow if it got Eddie away from her and close to them. She tried to forbid him from going when he first got the invitation. The police didn’t pay any attention to a past her prime obese and diseased woman finally dying, no questions for an oddly silent son who doesn’t seem to be grieving. Then again, Eddie supposes, if the police were competent, he would be in jail several times over for murders worse than that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His phone rings, the ringtone bright and belly, a signal that he would be talking to Bill. With a final brush across June’s cheeks, he answered his phone and stepped into the funeral home lobby, “Bill honestly, you know to only call after 5. Wait, is it an emergency, what’s happened?” And then a laugh, tinkling like bells that he hasn’t heard in decades. “No emergency Eddie. Simply an old friend saying hi.” And he laughs, bright and joyful, because maybe things hadn’t changed at all, not if Beverly Marsh was talking to him, laughing with him. “Beverly. Oh, Bev, how I’ve missed you.” And it’s honest, which is more than he usually is anymore. “Can you make it to Derry tomorrow? I know I could wait for the reunion-” And he would usually let Beverly finish, would love to hear more of her voice for hours and hours, but it’s important that she understands that he would drive to Derry straight through right now just to see her for a second, “I’ll be there Bevvie, bright and early.” She laughs again and he feels her warmth through the phone. His own personal sun peeking through the gray clouds that have hung over his life. “Thank you Eddie my love, I’ll see you tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tells his boss there’s a family emergency and goes straight home to pack and rest, he has about a 7 hour drive to make tonight.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Ben I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To my friend who's a fan of Ben: he's one of my favorite characters too, but also the one I find the most challenging to write. Usually, I make him too nice and perfect. That is not the case here. Enjoy...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Tom Rogan took his last breath, Ben Hanscom returned home from his office in Arizona. He was very happy to only have to spend time in the office for meetings. Other than that, they tended to let him design from home. It sometimes pays to be amazing at your job. “Honey, I’m home,” he yelled out as he made his way to the basement.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Ben,” she smiled at him from the couch. His Beverly. Of course, not the real one. The real one left Derry and then threw them all away like nothing they did together mattered. His Beverly would never do something like that. Not anymore anyway, not after what happened to his Eddie. He hugged her gently and then leaned back, taking in her face. This had been his closest yet. Same button nose, same pouty lips, but he frowned. “Where are your contacts?” And Beverly’s eyes widened and she stepped away from him, “I’m sorry Ben, I didn’t think-” And he tuned her out. Obviously she didn’t think. That was always the problem with <em> his </em> Losers. None of them ever thought about how upsetting it was to have them deviate from the real people. He did everything for them. Fed them pre-chopped organic food that they could cook themselves, gave them a luxury bathroom nicer than the one he had upstairs, and paid for every streaming and music service so they could constantly be entertained ( <em> he gave them books too, but most of them never bothered picking them up </em>).</p><p> </p><p>“I’m disappointed Beverly.” And he was. Small slips like this had been happening more and more often. It was almost time for another Beverly he supposed. He nodded, his mind made up, that’s what he’d do this weekend. He tuned back into Beverly, ignoring the tears and her words, he cut her off, “I give you everything and I don’t ask for much in return.” And he didn’t. Each Loser he picked up just had to <em> be there. </em> Had to look right, had to try to act right ( <em> here there was some wiggle room, how could they imitate perfection </em>), had to stay, but that was it. Ben was going to continue his lecture, but his personal cell phone rang, chirping out a tinny version of “You Got It.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite the situation, he grinned, it would be great to have a surprise talk from Bill. He laid awake at night sometimes and wondered if he should be the one to reach out and ask if he could come back, if they could all go back to what it felt like that summer, but his heart had been broken once before. Had been gently pulled from his chest before being brutally desecrated by a woman he can never stop thinking about. So, he doesn’t call. He sits at home and marvels at his replacements, how they’re so close to perfection and simultaneously never enough. Masturbates in the bathroom by himself, but never touches his basement tenants. To be called a monster is fair, he considers, but he’ll never be someone’s demon <em> like that. </em> Could never do it anyway, but especially can’t do it with the memory of his little love burned into his brain. During hard times, he picks up a replacement for Alvin Marsh and recreates <em> his </em>happy ending.</p><p> </p><p>He picks up the phone and starts up the stairs, lecturing a future corpse can wait. “Bill, it’s lovely to hear from you.” And it would have been, if it had been Bill. “Your hair is winter fire. January embers.” And there’s only one woman, only one, who had ever read that particular poem. Only one who it could ever be about. And the grief and the anger melt away because he had never stopped hoping. Had raged and destroyed and tried to forget, but despite it all, he had always hoped she would come back. And he imagines her, as she would be now, older and wiser, but still Beverly. <em> His </em> Beverly. <em> The Losers’ </em>Beverly. And he replies with the only thing he could ever say, “My heart burns there too.”</p><p> </p><p>And he laughs because his heart is back in his chest and it’s burning and so are his eyes, as tears fall from them and down his cheeks. And she laughs with him, still so bright. “Come to Derry, New Kid.” And he’s nodding even though she can’t see him. “I’ll fly in tomorrow, can you all pick me up?” And there’s a familiar laugh in the background and he hears Bill’s voice, “Absolutely.” And it’s a short conversation, but he hasn’t felt like this since the first Beverly Marsh. Since the first time someone looked at him and saw <em> him </em>, not the Fat Kid, not the New Kid, not the Kid With Issues. Hasn’t felt like this since strangers treated him with kindness and cleaned his wounds. Since he fell into a violent puddle of blood and they didn’t pull him out, but instead swam with him. And he can’t go another moment without saying it, can’t risk not saying it. “I love you Beverly.” And he means it. Even if he wonders how he can forgive her, even if he wonders if everyone else will forgive her; Benjamin Hanscom loves Beverly Marsh. “I love you too, Ben.” And she loves him back.</p><p><br/>He floats down to the basement with a very special cup of tea. He should probably be serious, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. She had put the contacts in. He sat beside her on the couch and handed her the cup. “I need you to drink this please.” And she looks at him, and she’s not crying, but she knows. And her hands are shaking and she hesitates. It’s not a frown on his face, he’s still too happy for that, but it’s not a good smile either. “I would rather do this way, but I can change it up if you want me too.” And she glares at him, she spits at his feet, but she gulps it down anyway. And he smiles at her, really her this time and not his ghost ( <em> angel </em>). “You’re very brave. I appreciate you for doing this for me.” And she’s ripping the contacts out of her eyes and pulling the wig off her head. “I’ll die as myself.” And it feels wrong, but he has the real thing waiting for him, so he simply leaves her to her peace. He’ll check back in an hour, he has some work to do if he's taking off to Derry tomorrow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Interlude: He Never Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New favorite OC honestly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jennifer <em> hates </em> her job. She thought it’d be glamorous six months ago, but now she knows how fucking right her mother was, and that’s the only thought that keeps her on as a flight attendant. She hates the travellers, with their obnoxious children and entitled attitudes. She hates that she only gets to see the hotels in all the places she wants to go. And she definitely hates the pilots. A sexual harassment claim will quickly get buried, she saw it happen to single mother Brenda. Used to be the top attendant, but when she refused to suck a dick, they sent her to Alaska where the pay was shitty and the location was somehow worse. So, Jennifer sucks just enough dick to not get fired or demoted, because after 6 more months of this, she’ll be able to afford to move to Canada, where she hopes things will be a bit better, more bearable.</p><p> </p><p>But first she has to make it through this standard flight, Chicago to Bangor. Not many people are on, which is nice, but it does mean she’s the only attendant on board (<em> or at least the only one working, as Lazy Linda doted on the first class travellers [ of which there are 2 this flight] </em> ). There was a fat guy and his little girlfriend in the business row; he made no secret of staring at her tits as she poured their drinks. All his meek little mouse did was blush. Jennifer hated other women and this was why. But, as much as she wanted to, she didn’t spill a single drop and continued on to the next rows. Some boring families who loved telling her their life stories ( <em> two sisters married two brothers and now their kids are cousins and best friends; if you ask her, those kids will definitely murder or fuck each other in a few years if they’re not already, but what does she know about family </em>). Then, in the back rows, what she’ll refer to as Odd Couples. </p><p> </p><p>Now, she’s no homophobe or judgemental mind, but it’s a little hard to tell who’s with who. There are five of them in their little group. And they’re all a little handsome and a little ugly, which is strange, because Jennifer didn’t know you could be both, but they are. A black man with broad shoulders and a nice smile, but his eyes seem <em> dark </em> , and she doesn’t mean that they’re brown, though they are. There’s a tall man covered in hair with real ugly glasses, but she thinks she’s seen some old YouTube videos of him, he’s a comedian. Pretty funny, but he doesn’t seem to want to laugh now. Most of the people in their group are smiling and giggling, but his mouth is in a hard line and his eyes keep flicking to the little redhead. The redhead is small and she should be beautiful, but Jennifer feels something off about her. Now, Jennifer ain’t no psychic or nothing, but that little redhead looks like she might knife her in the parking lot and smile while she does it. Wonder if that’s why the man in the, uh… whatever the little Jewish caps are called, seems so serious. His hand seems locked on the comedian’s arm, and he could just be scared of planes ( <em> an entirely reasonable fear, as she found out when they hit turbulence so bad on a flight to Italy she believed in God for a few hours </em> ), but his eyes seem sharp and she thinks he notices the comedian’s hands twisting and those eyes on the redhead. Wonder what she even did to make a man look at her like that. Jennifer gives herself a wry grin, she also wants to know how to get a man like the one on redhead’s right to look at her like that. Now, <em> that </em> man is handsome. He doesn’t seem to fit into their strange little group. He’s got shaggy brown hair that’s pushed back out of his face and he’s not as broad as the comedian or the black man, but it’s the way he carries himself. This is the Leader of the Odd Couples. He’s the sun and everyone else is revolving in his orbit.</p><p> </p><p>She would stay, it almost feels like she’s drawn by magnets to these people, they’re so <em> interesting </em> , so <em> dangerous </em> . It feels like she’s at the zoo and she’s in front of the lion’s cage, but instead of glass, it’s a fence. If she reaches out, she could touch a <em> lion </em> , but she knows that those claws are sharp. So, she continues on and does the rest of her duties ( <em> which are mostly filling cups and getting stared at by Fatso </em>).</p><p> </p><p>It’s later, as they begin their descent and the seatbelt sign goes flashing, that she notices the absence of the Comedian and the Leader. And, honestly, she knows where they probably are, but that’s not the couple she would have guessed. She knocks on the bathroom door anyway and tries to be kind as she tells them that the descent is beginning. <em> No need to rattle the cage </em>, she thinks, but as they come out, the Leader is bruised. Not many people would notice, or care, but she spent enough time being kicked around by her stepdad to not do anything. So she approaches and gently taps the Leader on the arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright? Do you want me to call anyone?” And he’s shocked, that much is clear. The Comedian returns to his seat and kisses the Jewish man on the nose. He’s still glaring at the redhead, but his hands are holding onto the man’s hands and his thumbs are rubbing gentle circles. The Leader is smiling though, and it’s such a charming smile. There’s a dark handprint wrapped around his neck and his eyes are bloodshot, yet he smiles like she’s asked such a silly question.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs and she shivers, because maybe she underestimated the Leader. Maybe he’s the most dangerous one with an ugly laugh that sends a chill up her spine. His hands are warm and they’re calloused, like he’s used to work, but they’re gentle as they take hers. “I appreciate your concern,” and his blue eyes are looking into hers and suddenly, they’re floating, only the two of them stuck in this tin can, “but I’m okay. Richie needed a release before he does something he’ll regret.” And Jennifer nods, though she’s not sure she understands. He nods his head toward his group, “Those people right there are the most important people in the world to me. So if I have to be bruised or beaten or bloodied, just to keep them together and with me, I will.”</p><p> </p><p>But she has never loved anyone that much, has never thought it to be possible. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get hurt?” And he squeezes her hands and smiles at her again. “You’re a good person, so I’ll be honest with you. We have a group, my friends and I: The Loser’s Club. The 7 of us are soulmates. So, I’m not kidding when I say that if even a single one of them asked me, I would strangle you in that bathroom, kill the pilot, and take this plane <em> wherever </em> they wanted to go.” He gives her a wink and walks back to the group, freezing her in place as she stands and observes. He plants a kiss on the redhead’s forehead and allows her to trace the bruise on his throat. She glances at the Comedian and their eyes are locked for a moment. Finally, she looks away and they both slump into their seats, a little worse for wear by whatever that interaction meant.</p><p> </p><p>They get off the plane and they are laughing again, like Jennifer’s life hadn’t been changed forever. Like they hadn’t left a book with $500 inside, written by some small-time horror author (<em>she wonders which of them is Bill, which of them had scrawled a "good luck" on the dedications page with an autograph</em>). Like they weren’t wolves, hiding in button downs and a sundress. Jennifer slipped the money into her bra and sent a silent prayer to a God that she only sometimes believed in. She prayed for the lambs that would surely be slaughtered. And she prayed for a soulmate who would love her to the point of madness, even if his hands dripped with blood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Stan II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stan had been scared before. He was a Jew who grew up in a tiny suburb in Maine where being even slightly different from cookie-cutter white bread was enough to label you a freak (</span>
  <em>
    <span>an Other, he thinks later, after he gets the vocabulary at UCLA</span>
  </em>
  <span>). He had feared for his life with every fallen monster, terrified that they would be playing possum, that he would turn away and they would rip him apart. He had been scared when he first got the request to make money disappear and reappear somewhere else, and each time after that he still gets a zing of that adrenaline; he can still fear. But, the Losers usually made him braver. They stood up for him. They placed themselves in the line of fire when they could have left him alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie was scaring him more than anything he had ever faced before. They decided on two cars. Bill, Richie, and himself would head to Derry and get things ready for the other Losers. Mike and Beverly would hang around the airport and wait for Ben to arrive. Despite the fear, sitting like a stone in his stomach, he was excited. The Losers would be together again and this saga would end… One way or the other. Bill chattered happily in the front seat, his way of breaking tension not working on Richie; he was usually happy to be chatted to about nothing, but his entire body was tense. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In their years together, it wasn’t often that Stan saw Richie without his smile. He’s seen it bloodied. He’s seen it wobbly. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> how it got smaller and smaller, and disappeared more and more, as more Losers accepted Beverly back. Richie was a wax candle, a flickering flame that’s closer and closer to going out. There was a spark, on the plane, but it’s dimmer and dimmer still now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s quiet in the backseat, not like he usually is, not attentively. He’s quiet because he’s thinking. He’s thinking about how to solve this before Richie breaks the Losers completely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because they would. Break that is. If one of them were to break their sacred oaths, unspoken or otherwise, the others would destroy each other and themselves. And Stan shivers, because he knows Richie as he is now, but the others are a mystery. An enchanting fantasy he once dreamed upon a dream. He knows what Richie does for work, and how he does it. He knows what it feels like to kiss Richie when he’s covered in blood and he’s not sure whose it is. He knows how to wash his body, how to wash his hair, what towel feels the best against his skin after.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knows how Richie looks before he kills someone. He looks tense and grim. Just like now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>Stan taps his fingers on his knees, </span>
  <em>
    <span>one, two, three, one, two, three</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because what in all of the world, does he do?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Beverly II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beverly forgot in her longing to return, how much she hated the state of Maine. Her and Mike were alone together, waiting on Ben’s plane to land, and there are prickles on the back of their necks for all the eyes glaring at their backs.</p><p> </p><p>“Twenty years later and it still feels like we’ll be tree-ed by sundown.” Mike’s laugh is warm and rich, like stew made from a family recipe during the winter. His arms come around her waist from behind and she leans into his strong chest. “No, when Ben gets here, I’ll be relegated to the help in their mind.” And there’s injustice in it, so much so it makes her want to hijack a plane, but it’s hard not to be happy when she’s getting everything she ever wanted.</p><p> </p><p>Almost.</p><p> </p><p>She <em> knows </em> why he’s so angry. Knows what it feels like, to give something of yourself to someone you think will cherish it, then to have your heart stomped on, again and again. She thought he did it to her, after all. Before she knew that her Aunt stopped the letters, she really thought Richie had been just like the rest of Derry; a traitorous coward who wanted to fuck a whore.</p><p> </p><p>Beverly wonders sometimes, if her Aunt had ever truly forgiven her. When she had told Beverly what she had done, what she had <em> cost </em> her, Bev almost killed her. Had blacked out for a few minutes and woke up straddling her Aunt, her hands wrapped around her throat and her blue lips begging to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>She moved out after that. And then she met Tom. She blamed herself so much. Of course they would have written to her, her boys. <em> They must have been devastated </em>, she remembers thinking. But she put her thoughts and feelings in a box, high on top of a shelf in her psyche, only to be looked at at 3 am when Tom was snoring drunk and she was smoking in their backyard. She would have continued on that path, getting unsatisfactorily fucked and brutally beaten up, of dying a death she thought she deserved, if it hadn’t been for the reunion invitation.</p><p> </p><p>She bites a thumbnail as she tries to work out how to solve this. Beverly supposes she could tell them all about the letters, but… It might sound crazy, as she’s never lied to the Losers in her life, as she used to tell them everything (<em> even the </em> biggest <em> thing </em>), but she’s afraid. If she speaks it out loud, and they hear, they have to make a decision.</p><p> </p><p>Will they, or won’t they, believe her?</p><p> </p><p>Let’s say they don’t, or <em> won’t </em> ; what happens then? Richie will probably try to strangle her, he’s been clenching his fists since he saw her again, so she knows he’s itching to. But that’s going to cause Ben to murder Richie. Not that she’s completely sure he’ll be able to, but he’ll try. Eddie, <em> sweet boy </em> , she thinks, he’ll join Richie no question. They got each other, sure, but it was RichieandEddie before it was Beverly and Eddie, and she knows that. Stan’s an enigma. Will he be on Richie’s side, or will he gamble and choose the other? He probably wouldn’t even know before he made his decision. Bill and Mike will try to break it up, they were never one for in-fighting, but eventually, they would probably land on her side. Of course, if they’re at the point where Mike and <em> Bill </em> need to take sides, that means Richie won’t give in or out. That means he’ll kill her or die trying. They fight, they lie, they die, and no one gets their happy ending. </p><p> </p><p>There’s iron on her tongue as her teeth meet soft skin. She curses, which earns her a chuckle from Mike and a loving arm rub. She closes her eyes and leans more against him, feeling safe as he kisses her temple.</p><p> </p><p>Beverly switches thumbs and thinks some more. What if they <em> do </em> believe her? Will he kiss her again? Will his smile light her fire like it always did? Will they all give up the lives they have so they could be together? She’s not a gambler ( <em> okay, not including blackjack, but that shouldn’t count, when she does </em>), so how can she ask them to be? How can she ask them to stay and love her and each other, just like they used to? How can she ask them to pretend they’re still 13 and in love when it’s been almost 30 years? </p><p> </p><p>How can they even manage it? At this point in her career, she doesn’t need to be in the office to do her designs. She can scan them in from anywhere with the fabric selection written on the page. Beverly lets out a small sigh as she realizes she has no idea what most of the Losers do anyway. Bill’s a writer obviously, while Mike still works on the farm. Stan had told her he was an accountant, but he had a sly smile when he said it, so she wonders if he was kidding. The rest of the Losers are a mystery.</p><p> </p><p>“It looks like people are finally departing from his plane!” Mike’s voice next to her ear snapped her out of her musings, and she felt her heart race. He chuckled and stepped back as she automatically began standing on her tiptoes, looking desperately for the man she wanted, even though she only knew him as a boy.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re beautiful.” And there’s a handsome stranger in front of her, but he’s not who she wants. “Buzz off baby, before my boyfriend gets off his plane and kicks your ass.”</p><p> </p><p>She recognizes the laugh, it always sounded so surprised to be used, so she looks back at the stranger and sees very familiar brown eyes in a very unfamiliar body and face. But now that she knows the laugh, knows the eyes, knows the sappy love-sick look, she laughs too.</p><p> </p><p>And then he’s kissing her, his hands on her cheeks and his bags on the floor and Mike laughing delightedly in the background. And her eyes close and her fingers run through his hair and even though she knows she’s not a gambler, she knows she has to take a chance so she can feel like this.</p><p><br/>But she thinks to herself, <em> Ben could probably kill Richie </em>, and the doubt seeps back in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Eddie II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the slow updates y'all, but I've finally outline the rest of the story, so hopefully things will be smooth sailing (as long as I don't write myself into another knot)!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Maine could never choose which side of awful it wanted to fall on: terrible, cold, wet winters and hot, dry summers (</span>
  <em>
    <span>unless it was one of the summers where it decided to rain until Derry’s crumbling infrastructure was drowning underwater</span>
  </em>
  <span>). At the moment, Eddie sat in the driver’s seat of his rental car, carefully parked at the Hanlon farm, sweating through his slacks. When he wasn’t feeling anxious, he was feeling very nostalgic. The Losers would come here when they wanted a hands-off approach to parenting, but also adults that still cared for the kids. Adults that would make dinners for them, but also pretend not to see how many of them stayed in the hayloft for how long. He would have come to the August funeral (</span>
  <em>
    <span>he thinks</span>
  </em>
  <span>), but Mike didn’t tell any of them until their Christmas call. That was one of the many times that made Eddie think that their bond couldn’t be that strong (</span>
  <em>
    <span>of course, if one had asked Mike, he would have simply replied that he hadn’t wanted to interrupt their lives just for his pain, but Mike had often been difficult to take care of</span>
  </em>
  <span>).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His right knee bounced up and down, comfortingly hitting the underside of the keys in the ignition. His fingers tapped anxiously on the steering wheel. He was nervous, but he wasn’t sure why. Or, rather, who.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knew for sure he wasn’t anxious about Beverly. Bev sounded exactly the same, down to how she inflected her words. He didn’t really think he should be anxious about Mike either, he had always been a steady and consistent guy. Ben could go one way or the other, but honestly, Eddie wasn’t sure if his attention would be pulled away from Bev to notice the rest of them. The trio was where he worried: Bill, Stan, and Richie, his oldest and best friends. He would’ve thought that Bill would be highest on the list, but he supposes that Bill is a steady presence. A leader, always, so there was some concern that he would see something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Eddie and he would convince the others of the same. Quiet, but with words sharp enough to cut, Eddie wasn’t sure if he was ready for Stan. He doesn’t feel very changed from how he was as a kid, would Stan point out his lack of progress? Eddie wondered if Stan could still raise a single eyebrow with a look so challenging, so damning, that it often incited trouble. Then, Richie. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His biggest what-if.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know if he would consider Richie his best friend; he still feels loyalty to Bill like a collar, heavy and comforting around his neck. Richie was </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Richie was his magnet, pulling him in, despite any resistance or reluctance (</span>
  <em>
    <span>of which there was not much</span>
  </em>
  <span>). If Eddie was a balloon, constantly trying to float away inside his own head, Richie was his tether to earth. His steady consistency comforted almost every anxious feeling he had ever had. But…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s always a ‘but’ isn’t there?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie keeps his anger deep. Shoves it down and chokes on it as he spits out joke after joke, witticism after witticism, Voice after Voice, until his anger claws up his throat and out of his mouth. But, if Richie could just yell and get it over with, Eddie thinks he could handle it. He wouldn’t like it, or appreciate it, but he could handle being yelled at for some slight he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>ago that Richie just now decided to bring up. But…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But it isn’t just yelling. Richie’s anger is like his jokes. Mostly toeing the line, but sometimes (</span>
  <em>
    <span>more often that necessary or wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span>), it erupted into violence. He hadn’t often been the victim of it, that duty often fell to Bill as the de-facto leader, but even so, it made Eddie anxious. He had broken Bill’s nose at least once and Stan had had a bruise on his neck for a long time after a particularly bad fight where Richie had bit him. That’s not to say that the Losers didn’t hold their own. Ben had had to wrestle Richie down and sit on him once (</span>
  <em>
    <span>though, something about that had made Richie strangely calm</span>
  </em>
  <span>). Once, Richie had managed to punch Mike in the face. His face didn’t move, except for a single eyebrow and an angry twitch in his cheek. Richie had been young and dumb, but even he backed off after that show of absolute bad-assery.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie had never hit him. Richie had never even contemplated hitting him, as he knew it, but it bothered Eddie anyway. He knows that it’s a bit hypocritical; what’s a bruise or a broken bone compared to the death he dealt out? But, he had never killed the other Losers. Had never even considered it, not even with how broken-hearted Bev’s leaving had made him. He doesn’t think he’s an expert in healthy coping mechanisms, knows in his heart that none of them are, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> there are healthier ways to deal with anger than by hitting your partner(s).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gently laid his head on the wheel and shut his eyes, trying to do the breathing exercises he looked up on the internet. He knows his asthma is fake, but he still gets the need to huff on medicine-flavored water when he gets nervous or out of breath. His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy and suddenly, his bouncing leg was bothering him. He dug his nails into the flesh of his thighs, wishing for a moment that he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts instead of the button-down and slacks he had pulled on after work. Now though, he was thinking about all the germs from his workplace that he might not have managed to get rid of in the shower and the ones from this rental car and how they’re everywhere on him and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>panicking </span>
  </em>
  <span>all of a sudden</span>
  <em>
    <span>. It’s too real</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, feeling sweat drip down his neck past the collar of his shirt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I haven’t seen them for such a long time, what if they’re different, what if I’m different, what if it’s too much for any of us, what if someone leaves again, what if, what if, what if.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a shake and then a hiss as Eddie inhales with his aspirator. The snarling dogs of despair suddenly kept at bay, placebo effect in full force as he leaned back into the seat, trying to relax the tense muscles. But he’s shocked into action as several honks interrupt the quiet of the farm. He looks in the rearview to see a laughing Bill attempting to drive as Richie frantically honks the horn with one hand and waves with the other. With a laugh, Eddie steps out of the car and awaits his friends.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s on him in an instant and he’s not sure that Bill has even parked the car, but Eddie’s laughing as he’s swung around anyway. He’s set down to immediately be pulled into a hug by Bill (</span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s only </span>
  </em>
  <span>slightly</span>
  <em>
    <span> bitter that Bill is taller than him</span>
  </em>
  <span>) and then passed to Stan who holds him very gently and, by the sound of it, inhales the smell of Eddie’s hair. He giggles and steps back, looking at the people he was most nervous about. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And nothing has changed at all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Richie II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If Richie didn’t suck down some nicotine in the next few minutes he thought he might literally combust. He knows it’s a nasty habit. Hates the way it feels on his teeth. Hates the way the smell clings to clothes, not for his own sake, but knows that Stan hates smelling like tobacco. But, nicotine had sunk its teeth into Richie before the age of 10. He had snuck a carton from his mom’s purse and smoked them in the Barrens, letting Bill, Stan, and Eddie experiment as well. Of course, until Beverly Marsh, none of his friends had ever understood why he kept smoking. Yes, he knows it’s bad for him, yes he knows he could be saving so much money, yes he knows that everyone and their dog can smell the stink on him. But, as any addict will tell you, not all consequences matter. Richie doesn’t care if he dies a little younger, he can easily afford to quadruple his nasty habit, and he can’t smell the leftover, ashy smell that everyone else can. Besides, not much else can instantly set his nerves at ease, can stop the constant stream of thought in his head, and can make things </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm</span>
  </em>
  <span> if only for an instant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, he’s outside as the other Losers arrive. Though, if Ben had always looked like this, Richie doubts he would have ever been a Loser. He thinks the others agree as he watches them reunite, as everyone is laughing and happy. He accepts his hug from Ben graciously, no problem with Ben even if he has terrible taste (</span>
  <em>
    <span>though, they all do, don’t they</span>
  </em>
  <span>). And in the back of his head, Richie recognizes that he’s ecstatic that they’re all back together and all they have to do for the next week and some change is to get to know each other now, just like they had known each other then. But, that’s in the back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the forefront of his mind, no longer a ghost, is Beverly Marsh. He did a pretty good job of imagining her as an adult. Her hair is longer, vibrant like the sun and down her back, but that’s pretty much the only difference. Her freckles still span across her face and shoulders and everywhere she has skin. Her right knee has a scab on it, though he doubts it’s from riding her bike like it used to be. Her laugh and smile still light up a room and entrances everyone inside. Almost, anyway. Richie would like to become entranced. He would like to be tempted by Bev, would like to feel her warmth, but they haven’t talked about </span>
  <em>
    <span>it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The move, what happened before the move, why she didn’t bother talking to any of them before asking them to kill for her. Why she still hadn’t given any of them an explanation, even though he flew all the way to Chicago to chop some guy into pieces and throw him in 18 different trash cans. He’s quiet, standing in the corner of the room, watching them all watch her. Before, he would have been right there with them, making everyone laugh and hanging off Bev’s every word. Instead, his personal development was stunted, so he ducks outside to do the same to his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie comes out and joins him on the porch after his third. He wrinkles his nose and says, “If you leave the butts on the ground, I’ll help Mike murder you.” And Richie laughs and thanks the universe for Edward Kaspbrak. In a different world, one without the rest of the Losers, Richie thinks that Eddie would be his person. Stan’s his best friend, had always been his best friend, but there was always something about Eddie that drew him in and made him crazy. If Richie were the flame on a candle, Stan would be the wick: a steady constant, can’t have one without the other, etcetera. Eddie would be gasoline.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you Eds.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve missed you so much that I didn’t realize how bad it was. It was like I had an ache and seeing you set me to rights. I’ve been in love with you since we met, admitted to myself after I carved our initials into Henry Bowers, admitted it to you after our first kiss when Beverly left. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love it. I’ve missed you. I forgot how alive you make me feel, bursting with happiness and anger and humor. I love you, even if it takes you kissing me for me to realize.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>Richie decides then, in the early morning light, that he’s not going to murder Beverly. Not for anything she’s already done. Not forgiven, not forgotten, but unpunished for now. He presses his lips to Eddie’s temple, eliciting a choked giggle, and thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but if she puts one toe out of line, I’ll send her home to her husband.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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